“You can come over whenever you want,” she said, sounding tired.
“I’d like to see if we can unlock some other doors for her, though not too fast. She went over a big hurdle today. It sounds like you handled it perfectly.” He was always generous with his praise, and impressed by Whitney’s mothering skills, especially for a woman with no children, dealing with an extremely difficult situation.
“I don’t know how you figure that, I’m flying blind most of the time,” Whitney said humbly.
“You do a lot better than you realize. This is an almost textbook case of frontal lobe brain injury, with nearly every symptom it presents, and you’ve handled it perfectly every step of the way.” She had the advantage of being a doctor, but he could tell this came straight from the heart. In his opinion, you couldn’t fake good parenting.
“Well, she’s not talking yet, and she’s still speaking her own language. She can’t read and she can’t hear me, so I’m not sure what part of this you think I’m handling so well.”
“The night terrors, the aggressive outbursts. You just managed to convey to her that her mother is dead when her memory loosened up. You got her home in one piece. You’ve hung in for three months of an incredibly stressful situation with a child who isn’t your own. Give yourself some credit. No one said this was going to be easy. She’s come a long way and so have you.”
“I feel like she’s not even halfway there yet, there is so much progress she still needs to make.” Whitney sounded discouraged. It had been a hard morning.
“Give it time. When she starts speaking again, everything will be a lot easier.”
“How long do you think that will take?” Whitney wanted answers and there were none.
“No one knows. We just have to wait and see. If it’s okay with you, I’ll come by this afternoon.”
“That’s fine. I think we’re just going to stick around here today. I don’t want to traumatize her with another ride in the car.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” he agreed with her. “I’ll come by around three.” They hung up then and when Whitney looked down at Emma again, she was asleep on the floor, cradling the photograph of her mother in her arms, with Paige’s face in the image close to hers. It was a heart-rending sight, watching Emma there. She understood now what she had lost, and for the thousandth time, her aunt’s heart went out to her. Whitney had never loved anyone so much in her life, not even Paige when she was alive.
* * *
—
Emma was playing in her room when Bailey came by to see them that afternoon. He stopped and watched her from the doorway and Emma ignored him. He was a familiar sight by now, part of the furniture in the hospital, as far as she was concerned, and she didn’t seem surprised to see him at home, nor appear to care.
Whitney said she had been subdued all day after her discovery of the morning about her mother. She had gone all over the house, looking at other photographs, and found three more of her mother and had taken them to her room, and set them on the table next to her bed, where she could see them. It was obvious that she remembered who her mother was now. And she had pointed at Whitney when she found photographs of her and Whitney nodded. Emma had done very little speaking in her own language that afternoon. She had been mostly silent and had reorganized the photographs of Paige several times, until she had them the way she wanted them.
Whitney and Bailey were speaking quietly in the doorway to Emma’s room, when she turned to them with an intense look, as though she had something important to say to them. They stopped talking and waited while Emma pursed her lips together and pressed hard as though it took a superhuman effort, and with all the strength she had she let out a sound and she almost shouted the word “Mom,” and then repeated it again and again….“Mom…Mom!…Mom!…MOM! MOMMMM!” She couldn’t stop saying it once she started, and there were tears running down Whitney’s cheeks as she nodded and spoke to her.
“That’s right….That’s your mom….Mom,” Whitney said as Emma continued to repeat it, and Whitney looked at Bailey. “Oh my God, she spoke…she said a word.” He was beaming and Whitney laughed through her tears.
“You had two major breakthroughs today. She remembered her mother, and she said a word. I think you had a very good day. She’s starting to come through it, Whitney. This is just the beginning. She may regress for a while after this, but she’s headed in the right direction. She’s not going to recover in a straight line, it’s a bumpy process.”
“Thank you,” Whitney whispered to him, and he nodded. It was one of the most interesting cases he’d ever had, and the victories weren’t over yet. They had only just begun.
* * *
—
Whitney invited Bailey to stay for dinner that night. He had spent several hours watching Emma play with her dolls and toys, and then going to look at her mother’s photographs. She said the word “Mom” again every time she did, and it seemed to get easier for her each time. She was saying it more smoothly by the time they went downstairs for dinner, and Bailey thanked Whitney for letting him stay. It helped him to watch Emma eat her dinner too. She wasn’t a messy eater and picked at her food. Her appetite still wasn’t great, which was part of the brain trauma too. He had warned Whitney in the hospital that some brain injury patients tended to overeat or eat erratically, or want the same foods again and again, and others barely seemed to eat enough to survive and had no interest in food. Emma had to be cajoled, and Whitney had been tempting her with treats for three months in the ICU, but she was still looking very thin. Whitney had lost weight too. Bailey had noticed but didn’t comment.
Emma seemed to be lost in her own world as she sat at the table, but she had faced an important memory that morning, and spoken intelligibly for the second time. The first time she had said “Ow.” She seemed to have retreated into a private space afterward, as though to find some relief after the effort she had made, and the unhappy discovery about her mother.
Bailey had suggested that Whitney put on a DVD of Emma’s old TV show the next day. He wanted to provide as much stimulus for her brain as they could without going too far and putting her on overload.
“If she’s not ready for it, she won’t identify with it,” he told her. “It will be interesting to see how she responds. Now that she’s confronted the memory of her mother, she’ll be able to open other doors. It all fits together like a puzzle.” After he said it, Emma wandered away from the table halfway through the meal and went back to her room. She seemed to find comfort there, and feel safe among her familiar things. Eileen said she’d keep an eye on her, and Bailey and Whitney sat at the table for a while, finishing their meal. She had picked up a roast chicken for them, and made a salad to go with it, and it was nice just sitting and talking with another adult. For the past three months she had done nothing but work and spend every waking moment with Emma. And with Chad out of her life now, she had no one to talk to and unwind with. Bailey was curious about her.
“What do you do for fun?” he asked her as she poured coffee for them and served him a bowl of ice cream. She laughed at the question.
“You mean when I’m not seeing patients and hanging out at the ICU with my niece?” He nodded in response. “I used to travel, but I guess I won’t be doing that anymore, or not for a while. I love art galleries, museums, movies, the theater, ballet. I enjoy going to Lake Tahoe. I was on vacation in Italy on a friend’s boat when the accident happened. I came back the same day I arrived, and something tells me I won’t be able to leave Emma for a long time.” She looked serious as she said it, and he didn’t disagree with her.
“You’re going to need to make time for yourself too. Everything can’t be about Emma or you’ll wear yourself out.”
“There’s no one else to pass the baton to. I’m it now. What about you? What do you do for fun?” she asked him to get the focus off herself.
“Write,
read, hike, run, ski, play tennis. I ride horses when I can. I write a lot of papers for medical journals about brain trauma. There’s so much we all need to learn on the subject. It’s fascinating.”
“I have to admit, if Emma weren’t my niece I’d be fascinated too. But it’s a little close to home for me right now, and very intense.”
“We should write a joint paper about it when this is over,” he suggested. “You bring a lot to the table with your psychiatric background. I’ve always thought that with brain injuries, the two disciplines should be combined, psychiatry and neurology.”
“That’s an interesting point of view.” She liked talking to him. It was different sitting in her kitchen than consulting with him in the ICU. That had been strictly professional, but this was more relaxed now that they were home, and she enjoyed his company, as an extremely competent physician.
“Amy Clarke and I want to write a book together, but we haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
“I want to write a layman’s guide to family therapy, or maybe one on sociopaths,” Whitney commented. “Same problem. I never have the time,” and now she had even less. She had none at all.
“Maybe you’ll have time to write about Emma when this is over,” he said thoughtfully. “Do you suppose she’ll go back to acting when she recovers?” He was curious about it, and Whitney was skeptical.
“That was her mother’s obsession. It wouldn’t be mine. I don’t think it’s a good life for a child. Emma hasn’t been to a normal school in two years. She had a tutor on the set. It’s not a healthy life. Her mother thought it was great. I never did. We grew up around Hollywood and a lot of famous people. All I wanted was to get away from show business as fast as I could, and do something entirely different. Paige was desperate to have a piece of it. Our mother was an actress, and our father was an agent. I hated everything I saw about it. It ate my mother up. She died at fifty-four.” He looked surprised.
“I’m sorry. What did she die of?”
“Early onset Alzheimer’s. Elizabeth Winston.” He looked shocked when she said it.
“Good Lord, she was a major star.” Whitney nodded and smiled, still proud of her.
“Paige wanted Emma to be just like her. I won’t stop her if that’s really what she wants, but I’d rather see her lead a nice normal life when she gets better. She can always go back to acting twenty years from now. We’ll see how it goes, if she even has the option to go back.” He nodded, impressed by what she’d shared with him. She was a very modest person, and there had been nothing to suggest that she was the daughter of a major film star, although Whitney was beautiful too. “Paige wanted Emma to win an Oscar one day. She’s a good little actress, but it’s so much pressure for a kid. I see a lot of patients from the film world, they’re all so unhappy and their lives are so screwed up.”
He helped her clear the dishes away then, and he left a little while later, without disturbing Emma again. He thanked Whitney for the evening and said he’d call her in a day or two to see how Emma was doing, and Whitney walked upstairs after he left. Emma was lying on her bed, playing with her dolls. She looked happy and peaceful, and if Whitney hadn’t known about her brain injury, she wouldn’t have guessed, looking at her. It made her wish that their life could be normal again, and her sister were still alive.
It had been nice having Bailey over for dinner. He seemed like a good person, and she thought his specialty was interesting. It was just nice talking to another adult, and having a new friend. Now that Emma was living with her, she didn’t have time for more than that, and probably never would again if Emma didn’t recover.
* * *
—
The next day she followed Bailey’s advice and put on a DVD of one of the episodes of The Clan. Emma walked past several times while she was on the screen, but didn’t react. It was as though she didn’t recognize herself.
Whitney tried it again a few days later, and this time Emma stopped with a puzzled expression and stood there for a long time, and then turned to Whitney with a quizzical glance. Whitney nodded and pointed to her and then to the screen.
“That’s you,” she said. Emma hadn’t spoken again since the time she’d said “Mom,” but after Whitney pointed to her, she continued to stare at the screen, as though trying to understand what she was doing on the show. Then she shrugged and walked away. It didn’t seem to jog her memory or interest her at all. And as Bailey had predicted, after the big breakthrough about her mother, Emma regressed for several days. She spoke in her gibberish again, and she had night terrors almost every night. Whitney heard her start one of them one night, and then she stopped before Whitney could go in to her, so she assumed that Emma had gone back to sleep. And ten minutes later, she decided to check on her anyway. Eileen was standing over Emma’s bed when Whitney walked in on bare feet, and saw the nurse restraining her with her full force, with a hand clamped over Emma’s mouth so she couldn’t scream, as she looked wild eyed at the overpowering woman who was holding her down. Whitney flew across the room, grabbed her, and pulled her away from Emma with a look of outrage.
“What are you doing?” Whitney shouted at her. Eileen looked panicked when she saw her.
“I’m calming her down,” she said with a guilty look.
“No, you’re not, you’re restraining her. Get away from her right now. You’re leaving immediately.”
“It’s the only way to deal with night terrors,” Eileen said with a vicious look on her face, furious to have been caught. But Emma wasn’t screaming, she was watching the looks on their faces, and Whitney picked her up and held her and told Eileen to pack her bags, call a cab, and leave, and not come back. She was shaking as she held Emma. What if she hadn’t come in to check on her? Emma was at the mercy now of anyone who took care of her.
“I’m sorry,” she said to Emma again and again, even though she couldn’t hear her, but she could see Whitney’s face. “I’m sorry, baby,” she said and lay her down gently on the bed, as Emma pursed her lips with that intense look again, trying to force out a word, as Whitney waited, and Emma finally exploded with another single sound.
“Bitch!” she shouted as Whitney stared at her, and then Emma sat down on the bed, grinning, pleased with herself. “Bitch! Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!” Emma repeated with determination, and Whitney started to laugh. They had just had another breakthrough, and any word was fine with her! She nodded at Emma, gave her a thumbs-up, and Emma gave her a high five. She had just remembered another word. It was another victory for their team. Whitney couldn’t wait to repeat it to Bailey the next day. At least they could share a good laugh. Emma looked at Whitney gratefully. She had saved her again.
Chapter 7
After Whitney found Eileen the nurse restraining Emma, with a hand over her mouth, and fired her on the spot, she contacted Brett, the younger nurse she was planning to use three days a week. She asked her if she would consider working a five-day week, and Whitney was going to take care of Emma herself without nursing help on the weekends. Brett was thrilled with the extra two days of work, didn’t mind living in, and on her first day with Emma, Whitney found them baking cookies, while Brett showed Emma how to apply the colored sprinkles. She didn’t need language to figure out how to do it, and Brett was patient as she demonstrated it to her, and then waved Emma toward the pans she had spread out on the kitchen counter. Emma looked very pleased with herself when they were finished. Brett had a million ideas for projects she wanted to do with her, and they were off to a good start. Whitney felt like she was running a school now, and in a way she was.
Whitney reported to Bailey about the incident with Eileen holding Emma down with a hand over her mouth, and firing her on the spot, and Emma managing to say another word, which happened to be “bitch.” Bailey laughed out loud.
“That’s very common with frontal lobe injuries,” he said to Whitney and had warned her about it before
. “It disinhibits them, and we get some very interesting language from the adults, and even some kids, depending on what they’ve heard at home. We hear everything from racial slurs to propositions. Some of the old guys get really salty and hit on the nurses.”
“Emma was very pleased with herself after she said it. My sister was pretty liberal with her mouth around Emma. We may hear something worse if she really starts talking,” she said, and they both laughed. Then he thanked her for dinner the night before.
“That was fun. Let’s do it again. I’ll bring you food next time,” he offered, and she liked the feeling that they had become friends. The only adults she talked to these days were her patients, and she couldn’t let her hair down with them.
She enjoyed Amy Clarke’s visits too. She was a little more serious and intellectual than Bailey, who was warmer and more informal. He was still amazed that Whitney and her late sister’s mother was Elizabeth Winston. She had been a legend, an icon, and it seemed tragic that she had died so young, and of such an unfortunate illness. Now Paige had died young too. Bailey was impressed that Whitney was carrying all the burdens of Emma’s situation on her own shoulders. She was doing a great job with her niece, encouraging Emma’s recovery in every way she could. It was her mission in life now, the way Paige’s had been Emma’s TV career. Whitney just wanted to get Emma healthy again and her brain functioning normally, whatever it took.
She had begun reading about brain injuries in the medical journals she subscribed to and was becoming very knowledgeable on the subject. She had serious questions about what part of the damage was psychiatric from trauma and which component was purely physical. There were conflicting opinions on the subject among professionals in the field. Whitney had a theory that Emma’s inability to speak was as much due to the psychological trauma she’d been through as the damage to the frontal lobe of her brain. She wondered if Emma would eventually recall the accident itself, and if she did, would she then be able to speak again? She was convinced the two were related. But Emma still had no recollection of it. It led Whitney to believe that she must have lost consciousness very quickly when she hit her head, so it was anyone’s guess as to what she had seen, how traumatic it had been, and precisely what her silence was due to. Whitney was still trying to unlock that door, particularly after Emma had said her first two words. But Emma was still speaking gibberish all the time, as though it were a real language.
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